The Crux
by knit-wear
Summary: Jackson and Lisa flee the States in an attempt to save both their lives. A positive spin on their relationship for a change.
1. Miami

Disclaimer: Own nothing.

The Crux

1.

Lisa's hand clamped down on the arm rest – her knuckles turning white as the small plane shook in its ascent over Miami. Her nerves were fried from the day's violent exertions and flying was the last thing she wanted to do – of course there was no choice in the matter. Fly they must. Lisa pressed her head back into her headrest and shut her eyes, willing the eleven hour flight to pass quickly.

A fizzy orange cocktail in a Champaign glass was dangling in front of her face, "Mimosa to calm your nerves?"

Lisa turned to her companion and frowned, "Oh – oh fine", she conceded, taking the glass and allowing herself a generous sip of the fizzing drink. Lisa winced at the bitterness.

"It will be alright. I promise."

Jackson was looking at her with his face set in that cool relaxed stare she knew so well, conveying his genuine desire to keep her safe. Not before long a sideways smirk slipped over his lips, one that Lisa was only recently able to see without instantly feeling she was being deceived as she had been so long ago on that fateful flight. That fateful Tex Mex.

Her eyes were glowing, her hair radiant against Miami's soft pink sunset – she slipped her hand in his and leaned closer. "Thank you," she whispered, a smile breaking across her face. "I don't think I'm processing very well. Everything. It's so final now"

Jackson nodded, still smiling. He couldn't seem to turn it off. Lisa's chest warmed at the idea that her presence could make him so happy- that it all turned out to mean something in the end. All the fighting and running and deceit and fear for months on end – all of it had led to Lisa sitting in a private plane with Jackson by her side and a Mimosa in her hand heading towards an unknown tropical country.

She looked a little worse for wear in a dark green frock that was now hanging sideways on a broken shoulder strap – a result from wrestling around on the ground in a parking garage with one of Jackson's former associates. Angry bruises were blooming on her shoulders and arms – the product of her small but furious Nisson rolling down a hillside four times before crashing upside down at the bottom. They were both shocked that they had managed to limp out of that alive…

Lisa's hair was in disarray and she was shoeless, her make up smeared with dried tears from saying goodbye and she could feel skin and dried blood under her finger nails. But it was all worth it, she thought sagely.

"So, can you tell me where we're going now?" she ventured cautiously. Their destination had been kept secret for weeks, ever since she had agreed with his logic and decided it would be best to leave Miami. They would not stop until they both were dead. She had had those weeks to mull it over and come to terms with her leaving – but now, watching Miami fade into the dark night, Lisa wavered.

Jackson saw it – he made a quick joke, "If I tell you I might have to kill you."

Lisa snorted with laughter despite herself, and Jackson thought she looked more beautiful than ever seeing her giggle and sip her cocktail, forgetting the epic choice she had made.

"Fine," he sighed. "We're going to a city outside of Rio."

"Rio?" Lisa repeated in surprise. "Brazil?"

"Yep, ever been?"

She shot him a withering look that only proved to provoke him into laughter.

Jackson took her face and kissed her softly; Lisa melted into him, all her worries falling away. Should it worry her? She decided no, it should not. He was her partner and protector and she had made the right choice in fleeing the country with him.

She would have ended up dead or in jail if she had stayed. And worst – she would have lost Jackson.

A few more stolen kisses and both settled back in their seats, their hands interlaced and countenances peaceful. Neither could remember feeling so relaxed and Lisa let her chin drop to her shoulder lazily, glancing up at him from under heavy lashes.

"So it's just you and me," she sighed

He grinned, the shit-eating grin that always managed to rile her up. "Worried?"

Lisa removed the arm rest between them and leant closer to him, her arms slipping around his waist while his arm dropped over her shoulder.

She pressed her face to his breast, breathing in the smell of fresh cotton, gun powder and a hint of that smell that can only be described as _boy._

"No, I'm not worried."


	2. Brazil

Disclaimer: I Own Nothing.

The Crux

2.

Lisa stood with her lips pursed. A brush heavily loaded with shining plum coloured paint grasped in her right hand as she considered the stucco wall before her. "Hmmm." She exhaled thoughtfully. Behind her the Brazilian sun had begun to set, casting golden rays across the wall aside from where her black shadow stuck out against the stucco.

Lisa huffed, pushing a hand through her hair. A thin gold band glittered on her left ring finger in the slowly softening light. It had claimed its place almost two years ago after only six months playing house / international criminals in hiding in Corseca, a small city near Rio. Jackson had judged it as being too populated for their cause so they'd driven up the coast, away from populous cities where the small town of San Maria waited for them.

"This is either going to look amazing or horrible," Lisa called over her shoulder, still studying the wall. The humidity of the jungle made her hair stick to her face and she attempted to blow it out of her eyes impatiently. Three years on, her hair was longer and fell in soft dark curls down her back; her skin a radiant caramel colour from a new life spent under a blazing sun.

Across the room, lounging on a wide soft sofa facing the sea, Jackson was clicking away on his laptop as per usual. The sofa was outside on an expanse of balcony that would only be affordable in South America. Loping arches made of glittering, gem coloured ceramic tiles and reddish stucco stretched over him. There were nets for the insects at night, but during the day they left all of the arches open, letting the sun breathe in across their home.

"Jackson, what if this looks terrible?"

"Then we move," he replied airily.

Lisa whirled around in surprise. They had been living happily for two years in San Maria. It was a tiny city on the seafront full of friendly people who spoke in wonderfully regional Portuguese and lived simple lives. The apartment was situated near the border of the town near the vastly expensive sea, resting above a grocery store. They had become friendly with the owners, who were also neighbours and would frequently chat together over a bottle of Caracas in the humid, salty night.

At the beginning it was hard. Jackson tried to make her feel like they were in a beautiful paradise that she deserved to relax in after her ordeal – but it was a hard sell. Lisa clung to bad memories and wistful longing for her family. When Jackson tried to persuade her to fully let go of her past life she would cry softly, and every few days they would argue about her returning to the States.

They settled in in Corseca and Jackson changed tactics to cheer Lisa up. Normally he would have lost patience with her long ago for acting so unreasonably and the old rage had flared up occasionally during their shouting matches when she refused to see logic. But now she listened to him. She understood when it was okay to argue petulantly and when it was time to follow his every direction for their own safety. Without directly looming danger she was free to be as petulant as she wanted.

In Corseca they were still laying low – no contact with anyone but each other. Jackson encouraged her to sit on the beach in her bikini and enjoy the heat with a cocktail in hand. They sat in the sun and he taught her Portuguese, frequently offending Lisa every time he corrected her austerely.

"I can _read, _you know," Lisa had huffed after one of his mild corrections of her grammer.

Jackson rolled his eyes and tipped his sunglasses down to look at her. "You can't read _Portuguese,_ you know," he said, mocking her tone.

Lisa sniffed with indignation until Jackson pressed his lips to her shoulder, her collar bone, the back of her neck, until Lisa would give into to laughter and return to her studies. It hadn't taken long for her to become fluent.

Lisa taught him French, not restraining her laughter when Jackson admitted he had never bothered to learn French because the accent embarrassed him. He was fluent in Portuguese, Spanish, Italian and German. His grasp of Chinese was weak at best, but enough to get along in dealing with some of his past associates who preferred to speak in their native tongue.

He admitted to having only an elementary understanding of Russian as if it were something to be mortified about. Lisa had thrown her hands up, trying to explain he didn't have to be fluent in _every language on the planet_. Jackson did not agree and so the first year of their time in San Maria had been spent studying languages, reading – Lisa had begun decorating their flat in earnest – walls constantly changing colours and furniture pushed around to accommodate what new things she would buy.

Lisa set the paint brush carefully on the floor and went to sit with Jackson on the soft sofa. A salty ocean breeze passed across the balcony, a welcome interruption of the relentless humidity she was now so used to.

Settling down beside him, Lisa waited for Jackson to speak, having now, after three years, learned when to wait for him to talk first. She could sense something was wrong immediately.

"I think we should leave," Jackson said, not turning away from his computer.

Lisa nodded, waiting for him to continue, no longer needing to ask "why" all the time and simply trusting him. A welcome relief for Jackson, no doubt.

"The country isn't safe anymore," Jackson explained slowly, sighing because he knew Lisa wouldn't want to leave San Maria and the peace they had achieved there. "I've been in touch with my clients in Washington. Apparently there's been a surge of expediting criminals on the run here. For cash, of course. It isn't safe. Don't forget Leese, we're at the top of their list. Red alert terrorists." He sniffed indignantly.

Lisa leaned against his arm, sighing. It made sense to leave, but of course she would miss San Marina and they time they had spent there. "Where will we go?" She queried.

Jackson smiled at her, "How do you feel about Morocco?"

"Morocco?" Lisa sat up, confused. "Surely that's more dangerous?"

"They've looked for us in Morocco – it's the best place to go now." He paused for a moment, considering her worried face, "Leese, it's not like we're dropping into the middle of Marrakesh – we'll find a nice quiet place on the seafront, okay?"

Jackson tucked away a loose strand of hair, glowing red in the warmth of the setting sun.

Lisa kissed his jaw affectionately. "I trust you."


End file.
